


Under Pines

by octopus_fool



Series: Yuletide Cheer [26]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dagor Bragollach, Dorthonion, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Gen, Nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 13:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17081396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: Emeldir had spent her entire life under pines, and she never wanted that to change.





	Under Pines

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 20 of [Arda Advent](http://ardaprompts.tumblr.com/post/180626386876/join-me-in-creating-wintery-fanworks-about), the prompt was "pine tree" or "Christmas tree".

The pine needles were soft under her booted feet and the call of the crossbills loud in the trees above her. 

“Ma! Ma, look! I caught my first rabbit!”

Beren came racing towards her on the narrow path, his dark hair flying around his head and the rabbit in his hand. Barahir followed behind, the grin on his face almost as proud as that of his son.

“That is wonderful! We’ll have roast rabbit this evening then,” Emeldir replied, hugging her son. He smelled of pine needles and summer. 

 

The moss grew in a thick carpet, peppered with patches of heather and twinflower. Emeldir and Barahir lay in a clearing, dark pine trees towering at its edges. The stars shone above them like they only did on the clearest of nights, even the oldest stars glittering from behind Varda’s newer creations. 

Barahir’s hand lay warm in hers as they enjoyed the beauty of the world. 

 

The smoke hung so densely she couldn’t see the peaks of the pines. They fought to exhaustion, and beyond. Emeldir could no longer tell where her hand ended and her sword began. Her skin was painted black with orc blood. 

If mere survival was a victory, they won, just barely. It did not feel like a victory, too many of their men lay dead. Their faces burned themselves into her memory, like the smoke burned itself into her lungs. 

And it was not over yet. Barahir marched to the aid of the Noldor, if there were still any that needed their aid. Emeldir and Beren rallied their people, the exhausted, the injured, the women and children. They would not be able to hold their lands long against another attack, but they would go down fighting. 

The pines stood like warnings against the red sky and Emeldir could not sleep despite her exhaustion. 

 

They had burned the corpses of the orcs, but malice seeped from the charred earth. The pines were no longer green and comforting, but dark and forbidding. The clean scent of the forest turned to mould and decay. The shadows grew. Paths on which children had been able to wander on their own no longer were safe for grown men. The birds no longer dared to sing.

Barahir had returned and reported that the same fell shadow had fallen over all parts of Dorthonion he had travelled through. They sat sleeplessly in the nights, their eyes turned to the darkness beyond the settlement. Sometimes they heard sounds that did not belong in the forest. They placed their hands on their swords and waited.

 

“We cannot let them stay,” Barahir said one night after another group of their people had disappeared from the forest. “The shadow will continue to grow and our lands will not become safe again anytime soon.”

“You wish to depart?” 

Barahir shook his head. “I will stay and continue fighting. I will not abandon Dorthonion, but I cannot ask the same of my people.”

“I will fight with you,” Emeldir said.

Barahir said nothing. 

 

They argued, they fought. The pine trees watched them in silence, like they had watched her all her life. Only the fens saw Emeldir’s tears. In the end, she steeled her shoulders and told her people to pack. 

 

They lay in a clearing the night before her departure. No flowers bloomed and the silence was deafening. The pines stood around them like sentinels. If she tried hard enough, the forest almost felt like it had before. 

Barahir’s hand held onto hers like he never wanted to let go. She wished they could sink into a fen that would never set them free again. 

As the first clear morning in weeks dawned, she forgave him.

 

Emeldir dreamed. She dreamed of pines, of fens and gorse covered hills. She dreamed of the tors overlooking the wide lands and clear mountain tarns. She dreamt of laughter and of smoke and flames.

They were dead, she knew that. No thirteen men could stand against Morgoth’s forces forever, no matter how skilled they were. She saw Barahir’s cairn raised in stone next to Tarn Aeluin, night after night. 

She knew they were both dead, there was no other possibility. There was no way Beren could have survived. Only her heart could not stop hoping.

 

A crossbill flew into the birch above her. It should not have been here, not in this forest with the sunny greens and soft leaves. Her mind told her that even the birds were leaving Dorthonion, but her heart rejoiced as the crossbill opened its bill to sing.


End file.
